


Cravings

by tiptoe39



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s05e14 My Bloody Valentine, Frottage, M/M, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-05-13
Updated: 2010-05-13
Packaged: 2017-10-09 10:30:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,175
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86307
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiptoe39/pseuds/tiptoe39
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Those aren't the cravings Castiel wants to talk about. (PWP. There is no theme here, no deeper thoughts. There is Castiel and Dean and a wall and that's it.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cravings

**Author's Note:**

> This is a sort of an homage fic to [](http://entangled-now.livejournal.com/profile)[**entangled_now**](http://entangled-now.livejournal.com/)'s style. No doubt it is a pale imitation. I adore you, dear!

Castiel says he wants to talk about cravings. Dean's regretting saying yes already. As he waits for Castiel to arrive, he's assailed with an image he'd just as soon not revive -- Castiel hunched over like a monkey, munching away at something Dean wasn't sure didn't have salmonella written all over it.

But those aren't the cravings Castiel wants to talk about. This becomes clear the minute he shows, when his gaze runs over Dean's body like he's sizing him up for a tailored birthday suit.

"I want to understand," he says lamely. As though he's not feeling it all through his body. As though his usually pale skin isn't flushed and his hands aren't shaking.

Dean's looking for an escape route. "You do?" he says. "What, cravings?"

Then Castiel says something even more embarrassing than _cravings._ He says, "Desire."

Dean backs up a few paces, hits the wall. "Well, I suppose we could get you someone. We could go to another place."

Castiel follows him. Puts a hand on his shoulder. Not on the ball of his shoulder like a friend. On his shoulder blade, fingertips inching up toward his neck. Like...

Like he's about to slide those fingers under Dean's collar and rip his shirt off.

"Cas," Dean says. His voice isn't working right.

"You." Castiel moves closer. Dean can feel the minute trembling of his fingertips.

"Me." A dumb echo. Castiel nods. Closer. His chest brushes Dean's.

Dean swallows. Cas is indeed very close to him. It's not news, but the thought keeps rocketing through his head. "Oh," he says stupidly. "Oh, _me._"

"Just you." As though there was never any question. As though the very thought of anybody else this close to him is blasphemy.

Heat lurches in wild loops through Dean's stomach. "Okay." He barely gets the word out. "Okay."

They kiss. It's sucking and pushing, ownership, so, so hard. Dean mutters and thrusts against him. Cas pushes him against the wall. It's hard and cold, and Cas is hard and warm, and Dean knows which one he prefers.

"I want," Cas murmurs. "I want."

Dean swears. His hands run along the line of Cas' neck, to his shoulders. "Fuck," he mutters into the next kiss.

Cas meets his eyes. Dean's never seen him like this, eyes clouded, lips pursed and whole body trembling. "Dean," he says one more time, and he's burying his head in Dean's neck and grinding against him, his hips moving in wide gyrating circles.

Dean's knees shake. He's got heat pressing against him and heat spilling through him and Castiel's breath in his ear, sharp rasps, no words, no voice, just need, just air.

It's too good. He could come like this. Just rubbing against him. Fully clothed and with Cas breathing in his ear.

He feels Cas' lips purse against his neck. His hips are still moving, endless dizzying circles, rush of hot shifting weight and pressure then a respite that isn't long enough before he's riding out another wave of friction.

"There's more," he says frantically. "There's more we could--"

"I want this." Cas picks up the pace. Dean looks to the ceiling. A soft sigh breaks from his throat. His hands find Castiel's back, rake up under his shirt, pull him closer. Almost gentle.

Cas' hands are on his upper arms. His fingers are pulling at Dean's skin through his sleeves. He doesn't speak. He's concentrating totally on the circular grinding of their hips together. His breaths are fast but constant in Dean's ear.

Dean wants to kiss him, wants to say something. Something needs to fill this open moment. Except he doesn't, and nothing comes. Just the pressure, the maddening rhythm, the sea of heat that is Cas' hips. Dean gives up, leans his head in, closes his eyes.

For the longest time they're just leaning on each other and breathing into each other, and their hips are grinding their slow way toward ecstasy.

Cas' breathing is quick, but it's even. Dean has started groaning, his breath has started catching in his throat, but not so Cas. Cas is concentrating so hard it hurts Dean to listen to it.

He starts worrying Cas is trying too hard. That he's not going to get what he wants out of the experience.

"Cas," he says, and pulls back. "Are you--"

Cas' face is tortured. His eyes are wide open. He's biting his lip.

Cas is holding _back._

His lips part. He tries to slow his breath. "Dean," he says, and he's pleading.

Dean kisses him then, soundly. "Let go," he says. "It's okay. It'll feel good."

"I'll fall," Castiel says. Dean isn't really sure what he means.

But he knows what to say, anyway. He drags his hands along Cas' lower back, claps against his ass. He can feel both of them now, back to front to back again. All the way through. "I'll catch you."

Cas leans in toward his neck. "Promise." It feels like the first and last promise he'll ever ask for.

"I promise."

Castiel's desperation finds voice then, shaky loud voice, and he _oh_s against Dean's ear. _Oh_ and _oh_ and another _oh-h_, louder, and the grinding turns to desperate thrusting, and Cas' hands shake on Dean's arms. Dean grits his teeth and holds on tight. His job isn't to come, his job is to see Castiel through, keep him safe as he shakes apart.

When hot wetness spills against the front of Cas' pants and Dean can feel it through his own, though, when he hears Castiel's breath catch and not release for seconds before hitting a high, tortured note, he grits his teeth and the heat rips through him, tension snapping. He comes with one bright shout into the cavity between Castiel's neck and shoulder, falls back into the wall, pulling Cas with him, shaking.

Castiel's gone quiet again, shallow breathing against his.

"Hey," Dean asks, tenderly. He nips a kiss to Cas' jaw. "Are you OK?"

"You fell, too." Castiel sounds surprised.

"Uh, yeah." Dean shrugs. He feels shaky-good and sleepy, and Cas is unbearably warm in his arms.

"I'm sorry."

"What?" Dean has to laugh at this. "Cas, that means you were doing it right. Really, really right," he adds as another shudder comes over him.

"I thought..." Castiel pulls back, looks at him. He looks just as confused as always, but with a flush to his cheeks that isn't usually there. Like a child who's just come indoors after playing in the snow, he's rosy and short of breath, winded. "Never mind."

Dean pulls him in again. "Stay," he commands, and Castiel's weight slowly settles on to him. "Cravings all taken care of?"

He can practically hear Castiel's brain working, rusty gears clanking together. "For now." A pause. "They might come back."

One of Dean's hands slowly rubs across the short scruff at the base of Castiel's neck. "Yeah, well, lucky for you, there's more where that came from."

He feels a slow smile spread across the face pressed to his. "Good to know."


End file.
